


keep me (on fire)

by Caisar



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [13]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Friends With Benefits To Lovers, Getting Together, Hangover, Insecurity, Kylux Advent Calendar 2020, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:48:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28505490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caisar/pseuds/Caisar
Summary: Armitage knew, when he agreed to follow his temporary co-lead Ben back to his tiny flat that first time, that whatever might occur between them would have a natural deadline. He's got no right to desire something more permanent.None at all.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626937
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Kylux Advent Calendar 2020





	keep me (on fire)

**Author's Note:**

> My belated entry for Kylux Advent 2020. The plan was to rework a Fictober ficlet from 2017; it... became something else entirely in the process.
> 
> Title from [Novo Amor - Keep Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cD71pdObpwg). I listened to enough Novo Amor in the making of this fic that I would never forgive myself for picking a name from somewhere else.

He slowly comes to with a solid warmth crushing him half into a soft bed—two familiar things that aren’t supposed to be anywhere near each other.

He jolts awake.

For his part, Ben only rolls over from on top of him with a mumble and starts (or goes back to) snoring—like there’s nothing wrong in this picture. Like it is every day that he rubs himself all over Armitage’s not bumpy mattress and slobbers all over Armitage’s not rock-hard pillows and—and—

Oh stars, he brought Ben home.

_Home_. The most private of his personal spaces. The one-and-only-one-man’s land. Not even Phasma has been in his flat before; something dire must have happened for Ben to be given the privilege. Whatever that might be. He vaguely remembers sharing a taxi back from the New Year’s Eve party, an arm around his waist keeping him upright, warm breath next to his ear—

Fuck, even _thinking_ hurts. The oblivion of sleep tempts him, the warmth of the bed pulling him in deep. He wants nothing more than to curl under the sheets until his brain stops trying to burst out of his skull and the universe is set to rights again.

Unfortunately, it isn’t all that’s about to burst.

He pushes himself up and out of the bed with a low grunt, a shiver passing through him in the winter chill. Not eager to bumble about for his housecoat, he throws on the first extra layer he can grab off the floor—namely, Ben’s giant jumper. Ben won’t need it under Armitage’s plush duvet.

Outside of the dark cave that is his bedroom, the hallway is lit with that eerie, foggy glow of dawn. These hours don’t find him awake often anymore. Resent as he may the loss of authority that came with a co-lead, having Ben to help shoulder the burdens and irritations of a high-profile project has made for a simpler, calmer life. In the safety of his thoughts, he can admit that once Starkiller is completed and Ben returns to the Coruscant branch where he belongs, their office will feel immensely empty.

He goes about freshening up almost lazily, brushing his teeth until his mouth stops tasting like he licked the floors of First Order clean. His stomach is churning, his headache—pulsing to the same rhythm as the ringing in his ears—reminding him how old he is getting for the scene. To hell with trusting Ben; he is sticking to his wine and the occasional two fingers of whiskey from now on.

It will be weeks before he can even think about having another drink, though.

Next stop: the kitchen. Taking two painkillers, dry, he sits at the kitchen table with a glass of water, sipping at it as the worst of his light-headedness abates. The room brightens around him, slowly and without mercy, a deep ache settling onto his bones as he remains in the same spot too long. His eyes close on their own accord once or twice—his chin dropping onto his chest jerks him awake again.

He isn’t avoiding sleep, exactly; it’s more that he is bloody dreading returning to the bedroom. Ridiculous, he is well aware. This was hardly the first time he’s woken up next to Ben; that it happened—presumably—without sex first or in Armitage’s flat, where Armitage can’t get dressed in the dark and slip out while Ben sleeps on, shouldn’t change anything.

Still, it feels too awkward—too _intimate_ —now. If he returns to the bedroom, he is going to wake up in Ben’s arms, to Ben’s soft smile and mussed hair, and get _ideas_. Ideas that will haunt him every time he slides under and out of these same covers alone. The calendar already hangs over his head; does he truly need to torture himself further?

Besides, he made his bed, didn’t he? He knew, when he agreed to follow Ben back to his tiny flat that first time, that whatever might occur between them would have a natural deadline—in fact, that was a selling point back then. What right has he got now to sit here and pity himself?

Appalled, he drags himself up and over to the counter. Sleep is obviously off the table; he might as well make himself useful and put the coffee on. It should help with whatever part of his leftover headache is due to caffeine withdrawal.

Except that he can’t, he realises after everything is primed for it, since his coffee maker tends to screech like a hell beast and Ben is still asleep.

Hells. How can one man complicate another’s life so much solely by existing?

“You okay?”

Heart lurching, Armitage pushes away from the counter as if burned. Ben is standing just outside the kitchen with a hand on the doorframe, half-blended into the shadows in his customary black. His bed hair looks as horrible as Armitage imagined, although his lips are curled into a frown, lines visible between his brows.

A cruel, twisted little part of Armitage is glad to see Ben perturbed. It means he isn’t the only one.

“Yes,” Armitage responds belatedly, trying to rearrange his limbs into a semblance of comfortable, if not relaxed. He is still wearing Ben’s jumper, _fuck_. “Yes, of course. Just—making coffee.”

Ben hums, glancing down at the empty mug on the counter. “Is there enough for two?”

Armitage takes another mug out of the overhead cabinet in answer. Ben brushes against his back on the way to Armitage’s abandoned seat.

They don’t speak as the coffee maker runs—couldn’t hope to, over the sound of it. While companionable silence has never truly existed between them, they hadn’t had this sort of tension tainting the air since the first couple of months after Ben’s arrival, back when Armitage was still unwilling to cede any amount of control over their project. A feeling not unlike foreboding fills him, his limbs heavy with dread.

A crack runs down Ben’s mug—a shallow line on the outside, harmless beyond appearances. Filling them both, he passes Ben the intact one, leaning back against the counter with his hands hiding the defect.

Ben gulps down a good third of the scalding liquid as if dying of thirst before putting it down. Armitage’s throat burns in sympathy.

“Nice place you have here,” Ben says with a slight rasp to his tone, gesturing around with his free hand. “Very… austere.”

Armitage snorts. “You mean unlived-in.” He appreciates Ben’s attempt at tact; but he is under no illusions about the state of his home. The bedroom is where he sleeps and the kitchen is where he spends his waking hours while here; the rest of the flat might as well not exist.

“It’s a little sparse,” Ben admits. “Doesn’t look like you spend a lot of time here.”

It isn’t a question and Armitage doesn’t bother responding. Ben already knows the hours he keeps at the office—they leave together often enough for dinner and other after-hours activities.

Has he got enough food for breakfast for two?

Folding his arms over the table, “I thought you would come back to bed,” Ben says, an odd hesitation colouring the words. Something about the lines of his shoulders, drawn in deep as if trying to hide into himself, makes Armitage’s heart burn. “You were gone a long time.”

How long has Ben been awake? How long has Armitage, for that matter? “I couldn’t sleep,” he lies. “I didn’t want to disturb you with my tossing and turning.”

A corner of Ben’s lips ticks up. “I could help you sleep,” he says, an amused glint playing in his eyes. “Now that we’re sober.”

About _that_.

“Maybe later,” Armitage hedges, hiding behind his own coffee. It tastes as bitter and dark as his mood. “What happened last night anyway? I’m… missing a few details.” Most of the night, more accurately. Sharing a cocktail table with Ben; two rounds of some bright red concoction Ben swore he would enjoy; the shots; the foolish, _foolish_ desire to impress Ben, who drank like alcohol disappeared in his body…

The bits and pieces he does recall after that point, he’d much rather not have.

“Not much happened. We had some drinks, we talked…” Ben shrugs a shoulder, stiff and jerky. “You got drunk faster than I expected; but you didn’t embarrass yourself or anything, if that’s what you’re asking,” he adds, sending him a quick smile. “You’re a pretty composed drunk, actually. I’m envious.”

That isn’t how Armitage remembers it.

“You said you wanted to go home, so I got you home. I was just gonna help you into something comfortable and leave, honest; but you asked me to stay.” Ben runs his teeth over his bottom lip. “I did.”

That much Armitage could piece together himself. Ben knows how Armitage safeguards his privacy; he wouldn’t have intruded upon it unasked. “And?” Ben frowns in confusion—as if Armitage doesn’t know him enough to tell when he is faking it. He pins Ben with his General Hux stare. “What aren’t you telling me, Ben?”

Flickers of emotions pass through Ben’s face—anger and despair and resignation before it settles on a careful blankness that trembles with all it’s trying to cover. “You said—you asked me to stay forever.”

Blood freezes in Armitage’s veins.

“And you know I’m a fuckin’ idiot,” Ben continues, running a hand through his hair. “And I was a little drunk myself, so I didn’t realise it was the drink talking.” He sends a cautious glance at Armitage. “I promised to stay.”

Forever.

Armitage must be a fucking idiot as well, because his heart soars at the sound of that.

He shakes his head to dispel the wistfulness threatening to blur his vision. “Well, we’d both been drinking. People say things they don’t mean while drunk.” Ben said as much himself. “I won’t hold you to your drunken rambling.”

“That’s just it, though,” Ben says quietly. His expression is difficult to make out; but the look in his eyes—soft and intense—makes Armitage feel paper-thin and seen-through, as if Ben can read every silly thought passing through his head. “I meant every word.”

A fist grips his throat.

He takes a deep, deep breath, his lungs sitting wrong in his chest. In Ben’s guarded tone is a question he doesn’t know how to answer. The thing about their arrangement—it works, because it is casual. Even Armitage can’t ruin something casual—even if it hasn’t been that way for him for quite some time. Even if he gets the occasional, fleeting impression that it might not be for Ben, either. With the days ticking by fast, trying for anything serious would have been like building a house on quicksand.

If he truly asks Ben to stay with him, _forever_ , and Ben listens—they can’t keep it casual after that. That is uncharted territory. What if they start a—a _relationship_ and they can’t make it work? What if Armitage fucks up? What if Ben hates him for it?

What if he becomes Ben’s biggest regret, too?

His palms burn sweetly—he grips the warm mug harder to keep from scratching at them. “I thought you hated Arkanis,” he says, disgusted with how feeble his voice comes out. “Would you uproot your whole life to live here?” Because Armitage asked it of him?

“It has its charms,” Ben says with a crooked smile. “And I uprooted my life when I joined Snoke’s company—got nothing tying me to the Core Worlds anymore. Arkanis is as good a country to live as any.”

Armitage begs to differ. “Would Snoke even let you off your leash permanently?” he asks, half-joking. Snoke’s reliance on his protégé is an open secret; Armitage can’t imagine he would be thrilled to have Armitage steal Ben away.

Ben’s expression smooths over again.

Ice slides down Armitage’s spine. “Ben?”

Ben shifts on his seat, rubbing at his stubble. “Snoke offered me a position here,” he practically confesses, not meeting his eyes. “He wants to build a weapons design department. Separate from engineering. If I said yes, you and I would be working alongside each other as heads of our offices.”

Armitage’s guts unknot. When Snoke mentioned it, he thought Snoke was going to throw three incompetent fools under a new name just to shut Armitage up about it. Under Ben’s lead, a design department would _thrive_. “What did you say?”

“Nothing yet. Wanted to talk to you first.” Ben flashes him a wild grin that rides the line between excited and panicked. “I mean, it would suck if I accepted the job and you were looking forward to having me gone after Starkiller, y’know?”

Yes, Armitage knows the feeling very well. The part that doesn’t fit is hearing it from Ben’s lips—Ben, who tends to exude an aura of confidence so thick, Armitage feels emboldened merely by standing next to him. Ben, who is quick to anger and quicker to smile; but never, ever to doubt himself.

Ben, who is watching him like his life hangs on Armitage’s next word.

Warmth that doesn’t belong in winter rising in him, Armitage smiles. “You should take the job,” he says, broken pieces slotting into place in his mind’s eye. Not the only one indeed. “Arkanis is a sight to see in the spring.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written for:  
> \- [Kylux Advent event on Twitter](https://twitter.com/sternfleck/status/1329284320087990274), originally for day #31: new beginnings.  
> \- Bad Things Happen Bingo, for the prompt: headache/migraine. (13/25 filled; find the full list [here](https://desynchimminent.tumblr.com/post/181821535129/received-my-card-for-bad-things-happen-bingo-full).)


End file.
